


City on Fire

by NoChildren



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternative Universe - Cops, Drama, Drugs, Humor, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Relationships to Be Added - Freeform, Slow Build, This May Never End
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 11:40:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1743410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoChildren/pseuds/NoChildren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some suckers think that a kind word or a genuine smile is enough to get by. Those saps have obviously never held a gun. </p><p>Those saps have obviously never had a gun held to their forehead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tacks and Strings

**Author's Note:**

> Before I say anything about the Fic, let me just thank my beta:
> 
> lexie-in-pyroland.tumblr.com
> 
> Now then, let's talk names.
> 
> Here is the character sheet for the positions and what their names are. Keep in mind, half of these are head-canon, so don't hold the names close to heart. Unless they grow on you, then feel free to do as you wish with the names. 
> 
> Dell Conagher → The Engineer  
> Preston Dujardin → The Spy  
> William “Billy” Hutchinson → The Scout  
> Rick Mundy → The Sniper  
> Jane Doe → The Soldier  
> Macarena Alvarez → The Pyro  
> Tavish Degroot → The Demoman  
> Josef Schreiber → The Medic  
> Mikhail “Misha” Zharkov → The Heavy  
> Madeline Pauling → Miss Pauling  
> Helen → The Administrator

Another peg landed on the tack board where a photo of Saxton Hale hung. His smile was bright and manly; classic. A string was strung around the pegs surrounding the profile. The board was nearly as big as the wall, touching the ceiling then hanging inches above the floor. On it were photos upon photos, the strings intermingling and connecting the pegs to one-another. 

Leaning against the board-wall combo was Dell Conagher, the Sheriff of Downtown Teufort. In his hand was a mug adorned with messily scrawled words from his children. Judith, his eight year old daughter, had made the mug in a panic when she learnt it was Father’s Day, which explained the messily written words. Day was crossed out twice because she forgot to capitalize it. Wilbur was eleven and was able to get a more appropriate gift: A tie that was currently around Dell’s neck. It had turtles and lizards on it, but it was the thought that mattered. On his left hand was a wedding ring. Arms crossed, the man pulled his hat over his eyes briefly to get a moment of respite from his fellow workers.

The officers sitting in the room looked less than pleased to have to be spending more overtime on a worthless case. One that had been open for more than four years. 

Mikhail was fussing with the coffee pot over towards the right side of the conference room, trying to fill the glass container for the rest of the team. God knows they needed some caffeine. Dell glanced over with a smirk. If that giant wasn’t part of the force, god knows how much trouble he would have gotten in. The large Russian fumbled to pour the little cup of water into the top. Finally, he set the pot to boil and returned to his little metallic folding chair besides his fellow men. 

“Preston, tell me you managed to get the lightbox working.” 

“You are better than me. Sheerift.” 

“Alrighty then.” 

Looking at his fellowmen, Dell got himself a stool and a wrench before replacing the bulb in the box. Flicking the thing and then giving it a hardy punch, it whirred to life. Content, Dell stepped down and ran his hand through his thinning hairline. Once upon a time, he thought about having a ponytail, now he just hoped he’d still have a full head of hair by the time he was fifty. The stubble on his chin was short enough that he looked presentable, but long enough that it was itching the living hell out of him. 

“So, here we have Saxton. Notorious for the crime in the West Coast. Now, we can’t exactly try for him yet, so we’re going to unroot him from the ground up. Fellas, I don’t suppose any of you are familiar with the lowlives that live in the streets of the city here, so let me introduce you to one.”

Pressing down on the remote, the screen flashed white and showed a doctor of some-sorts, if one could call him that. He just looked like a tired middle-aged man who wore a labcoat. Half the meth addicts they brought in had the same look. Yet, he was the only thing that could start putting the puzzle pieces together

“He may not look like much, boys. I tell y’all he’s one of the biggest leads we’ve caught.”

“What did doktor do?”

“The ‘Doktor’ didn’t break any laws, believe it or not. His filing is good too. Got a legal citizenship about twelve years ago. Thing is, he’s willing to take anyone without notifying the police. That means that when those narcotic deals go wrong, his wallet gets full.”

“So, what is the deal with him, cowboi?”

Dell glanced boredly at Preston before pointing a hand at the large Russian studying the doctor on the board in an odd fixation.

“Mikhail, you’re going to assist the good doctor. You will assign to be his caretaker, his assistant, hell; you apply to be his lab rat. Anything to get us into his nest.”

“Da. Got it. Be his shadow.”

“Till you get us those facts, we stay still, you got it, Big Guy?”

“Da.”

With a nod, Mikhail went quiet. The Russian’s eyes were heavy on the screen, as if he was burning a hole into it. His thick face matched his thick body. Fortunately, his body didn’t match his personality. 

Dell dismissed the meeting with a wave and a swing of his mug. The men filed out, all but Preston. The Frenchman stood casally by the plastic table holding the now-empty coffee machine. Picking at a styrofoam cup, he glanced to his partner.

“Good meeting, Sheerift.”

“Still can’t get used to that title. Especially hearing it come from your slimy lips.”

“Perhaps it will sound better with a cigarette in my mouth, no?”

Reaching into his slacks, Preston pulled out a pack and placed a cigarette in his mouth. He lit it in record time and made a daunting stare at his commanding officer.Taking a drag, he breathed out slowly with a smile, “Sheerift.”

“Your teasing is getting mighty old, partner.”

It was comical the way Preston dressed in regards to Dell. He wore a dress shirt with suspenders clicking to the dark slacks. His hair was slicked back so the dark color shone like oil, minus the rainbow. Meanwhile Dell wore his uniform with some tacky yellow construction boots, his face round and hardened from raising two kids and taking out the trash on the street. In comparison, Dell was nothing but common. 

“This will get you fired, Dell. You’re in too deep.”

“Teufort has been working on this case for years, we’re getting close, I can feel it.”

“I wonder how it feels to be riddled with bullets. My friend, I suggest you lay your theories down for bed. It’s past time for pay, no? We should move on.”

“Not yet. I want my kids to grow in a city where drug deals don’t happen outside the apartment.”

“You can always go back to the farm.”

Scoffing, Dell looked over at the board and in a low voice muttered, “Marge wouldn’t like that.” 

“You’re divorced. What would she care?”

“Still wants to be close to Wilbur. Can’t help that. Henrietta understands. Hens gotta keep up with their chicks.” 

“Plus the court won’t let you move that far.”

“Got me there.”

The two stood in comfortable silence. The sound of the cigarette being burnt was a comforting sound. Preston strolled around the room, eyes scanning the board till his fingers landed on a respectable looking man. The smile in the picture was more genuine than Dell’s daughter’s smile on picture day. 

“Why iz All-American Joe on your board, pardner?”

“Jane Doe. Lawyer of the people. Or so he says. He plays a part in all this too, just as much as Rick Mundy.”

Jane Doe was a lawyer who had never once lost a case. It was inhuman. Charming to the news, yet so secretive when it came to his personal life. Then again, when did lawyers ever show up on the front of newspapers if it wasn’t for an affair. Dell had met the man once a few years back and he was oddly cheerful, even when his client was being led into the courtroom with a bag over his head. Instead of panicking, the lawyer shouted a word of encouragement at the defense. 

That day Jane won with no charges on his client. None at all. And that was with the case being clean, no blackmail or bribes. He was the hero of the convicted world. If you had the money to get Doe, you had the rest of your life to bask in freedom. A man like him was too powerful to be left alone.

“I wouldn’t consider Rick Mundy a role.”

Rick Mundy, on the other hand, was a low-leveled grunt that barely came on the radar. There were a few circumstances where Rick was brought in, but there was no evidence pointing towards him. The killing was clean, from a distance and as far as Dell knew, the man only held a pistol on him at the time, licensed thanks to Jane Doe. 

There always were those mysterious murders that Rick was always near, but Rick didn’t use fire in his job. It didn’t add up.

“Well he is one! They all are. Their families, their friends, hell; even their fucking landlords are a part of this ring. All we gotta do is unfoil it. It ain’t easy, but damn if I don’t!”

 

“Don’t get so riled up, hate to tell your kids you died of a mere heart attack. “

Chuckling, the Southerner parked himself in a seat and reached for the cigarette. Scoffing, Preston reeled the cigarette back and flattened it against the wall. The thing sizzled to its death and fell limp to the floor, the smoke still filtering the life out. 

“Non. You can’t be smoking around your kids now.”

Clenching and unclenching his hand, Dell sat back in his seat and let out a long sigh. Scratching his leg through the thick blue pants, he nodded his head forward in surrender. 

“Right you are, hoss. Gotta keep the smell off too or the wife will smack me with a wooden spoon.” 

“Oh please!”

“Get yourself hitched, partner. It’s some of the best and worst days of your entire life.”

“Takes two for you to learn, non?”

“Awww shut it.”

The two bantered like that for a while before Dell stood from his seat and paced himself to the door. His head was swimming from the smoke and he didn’t want to admit it to his partner. That would just make Preston tease him about his age again. A man in his forties was entitled to complain, especially when he was in his second marriage. 

“Get on the case, Preston. You may be my partner, but I’m not one to tolerate slackers.”

“Oui. I’ll hand in twelve gangsters by ze end of ze month.”

“Doubt it.”

Dell left the room with a wave. His office light was off, but when he turned it on, he regretted the decision immediately. Files upon files were piled and stacked everywhere. If there was a clean area of space, it was only so his pens had a place to stay safe. There was always a downside to a job and this had to be it. The clutter and junk filling the excitement. He peered over to the cubicles stationed outside his door where tipping and scribbling was being done. God, how Dell longed to be just another officer again. Although the pay was better, the solitude was starting to get to him. The clock on the wall just didn’t tick by fast enough and the oppressive silence was going to be the death of him. Unfortunately, it would look unprofessional if Dell were to bring his guitar to work, even to relieve a little tension. So there Dell sat, feet on the desk as he willed the day to be over. Sure, the papers needed to be done and he’d just look like a hypocrite to his men, but his mind had worse matters to think about. Matters like the doctor, and the kid in the streets, and even Rick Mundy. The names kept chasing each other, nipping at each other’s last letter before falling flat and coming up blank.

Groaning, Dell sat up and looked to the offices outside once again. Everyone was laughing, maybe someone brought in doughnuts. No one offered him doughnuts. With a scowl, Dell closed the blinds and rolled back to his spot behind the desk. 

Life as a cop was nearly as challenging as being a father.


	2. Skin Cells and Popping Pills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's meet Scout and Medic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I wanna thank my beta; http://lexie-in-pyroland.tumblr.com/
> 
> We got quite a few kudos and views, and I just want to thank everyone for reading. It truly means so much to me.

There wasn’t much to be heard on a rainy cold night. The chilled air left ice on the tips of words and made footsteps echo against concrete as if it was hollowed stone. Scout walked the alley with a switchblade in hand, eyes scanning the area. His other hand was clutching the bat hanging on his back by a strap. He turned as if on queue as a bottle rattled behind the dumpster. Rushing over, the boy pulled the big green obstacle aside to reveal a young kid. 

Not his job to take him out. So he pushed the dumpster back in. The thing slid back against the wall with a scrap and a ping sound of metal hitting brick. Made the kid scuttle up some fire escape and out into the city. Better he stay high in the sky than low on the ground where danger was more present.

The meeting was supposed to take place an hour prior and though Scout wasn’t good on time, he knew when someone was a no-show. It was going to be an easy trade. Some pot for guns. A promise by some low-ranked grunt. Though, grunts never really came through in the deals, instead tending to get high on the product and fall asleep with their hands in a bowl of cheesepuffs. Speaking of grunts- Billy turned on his heels and looked to the end of the alley where light was leaking in, carefully making his way to the open street where Tavish was waiting in a car. No doubt he was already high from the wasted stash in the backseat. 

“No-show!” He called lowly, walking to the passenger side and tugging the door open. His partner only nodded lazily before growling, “Knew that were tae happen.” 

“Yeah? Why’d you take on the job then?” The question was a bite, answered with a drag and smoke in Billy’s face. It smelt sickly sweet and god, that was enticing. 

“Billy, ya gotta calm down. Take a blunt, roll et, and shut da fuck up.” 

The boy took a baggie from the stash, it just being weed this time, and got the rolling papers from the dashboard. Quietly he contemplated whether to light it up then and there, or later. Glaring at his partner, he decided not to smoke the product at all. He’d have to deal with Helen’s nagging, then Jane’s fists. With a shudder, he threw the baggie into the back seat. 

“You got eh place tae stay, Baby Face?”

“Yeah, I’ll just go to the Doc’s. Bet he’ll let me spend the night if I give him some payment.”

“None of mine, I hope.”

“I have my own supplies, Tavish. Ya really don’t need to be thinkin’ ‘bout me.”

The man moved the clutch to drive and started rolling down the road, blunt in hand, hanging lackadaisically outside the window. The smoke trailed lazily behind the car before fading into nothing but the night air. The two stayed silent; their relationship was less than perfect, but it worked. The scar on Scout’s face was itching in the awkward ride, so he took the time to just focus on that. 

Finally, Tavish pulled up, stalled the car, and handed Billy a wad of cash.

“Ya been doin good. I’ll tell Helen ‘bout it.”

“Don’t bothah. Your word is worth shit. Get ya high ass home.” 

The man laughed and mock saluted the boy before pulling away. The car chugged its way down the street; shining in the light of the one or two streetlamps and almost making the piece of crap look half decent. It turned around the corner and was gone before Scout even had the time to think upon it.

Billy looked down at his newfound cash and shoved it into his pocket with the few dollars he had left from his last pay. Climbing up the familiar fire escape into the apartment, Billy pulled open the window and stepped into a well-decorated living room.The space was well organized, so much so that the owner could have been sane. He glanced around and found the familiar bird decorated with blood. He reached for it, hand running over a wing before a voice startled Scout, spooking them both.

“Walking in uninvited? Hasn’t your mother taught you manners? Then again, I think not.”

Josef was watching the boy from the kitchen, his arms resting on the counter that connected the two rooms. His hair was mussed and pulled in different ways, while his glasses were folded neatly on the kitchen table near a medical journal. The man carefully stretched his arms and poured the remaining coffee in his mug into the sink. 

“Yeah, uh, hey Doc. Mind if I stay the night?”

“Stay? I suppose it wouldn’t be such an issue. You know the price, Scout. Hand zem over.”

The older man held his hand out, fingers curled and ready. His eyes had that purple tint under them with bags so deep that Billy doubted he slept at all in the past few days.

“Can’t I just do chores or something?”

“Ja, you can do zat too. First you pay.”

“Ah jeez, Doc.”

Scout took his time. After about three minutes of just patting his pockets and pretending he left them back in the car, the young man pulled a bottle of stolen pills. The doctor wasn’t willing to play the game and only reached his hand forward, patience running thin. Muttering a curse, he handed the orange tube to the man who took the container slowly, giving the bottle a light shake. He briefly made eye contact with Billy before pouring the pills down the drain. 

With a tsk, his eyes followed the very last pill dip down and fall into the drain. “Nasty habit for a young man. Not so good to mix pills. Will kill you if jou are not careful. I vill set you up in the guestroom.” 

“Uh, doc, can ya wait a sec? I was actually hoping you could check something out for me, y’know. From my job.”

“Nein. Not job. You mean from your stupid shenanigans.” 

“I make more than you, old timer!”

With a snort, the doctor took his seat at the kitchen table. He began to clear a spot off the wooden surface. “Then buy yourself a bed. Shut up and get on ze table.”

The younger boy blinked stupidly for a second before he started to move. With a quick hop, he presented himself on the table, sitting as straight as possible.

“What did you do zhis time?”

“It’s my arm, doc. I cut it up real bad on glass.”

“Ja, I can see that. Do not try to bandage yourself up again! This is terrible!”

The doctor continued to curse in German as he unravelled the loose bandages around the man’s wrist and elbow. He paused once seeing the wound and glanced up, anger blooming on his face.

“These are old, Dummkopf! They are going to scar. Past my healing at this point. Go get my glasses, and the ointment if you would. You know where I keep it.”

With a huff, the young man hopped off the table and jogged his way into the bathroom. Checking the mirror cabinet, he scanned the bottles, seeing some good product, but thinking it better not to steal from the doctor. His fingers touched each label, hand twitching past the painkillers. Skin rubbed the bottle of a particularly good remedy, temptation tugging his will to its limit. Right before he was about to swipe the bottle, the doctor spoke from the doorway once again, glasses in hand.

“I asked you to do one thing. Those dirty addictions will strangle you, Scout.”

“Just call me Billy, Doc. And it ain’t that bad yet.”

“Then put the bottle down.”

Looking at his hand, Billy didn’t even remember picking the bottle up. Sighing, he tossed the thing lazily into the cabinet and shut the mirrored door with a satisfying click. He caught his reflection at a glimpse and felt a quiet pain fill him. The scar on his face was white against his skin and his buzzed hair made him look sick and scraggy, as if he just walked out of a hospital. There was an underlying tone in his skin that screamed drug addict. He knew when parents walked their kids to school, they’d want to walk on a different sidewalk than him. The hoodie he was wearing was so filthy he was surprised the doctor hadn’t burned it yet. Shying away from the reflection, he decided to put his attention back onto helper. 

“The ointment wasn’t in there, man “ Billy mumbled quietly, eyes on his torn up sneakers. 

“It is under ze sink.”

Billy took a second to respond and finally stuttered “Oh, uh, yeah. I knew that.”

Bending at his torn up knees, the boy reached below the sink and dug his way through gauze and bandaids for the specific ointment. Catching it, he tugged backwards and fell on his ass. The tile was cold against his legs, but hey, at least he would have a warm bed for the night.

Josef sighed as he got down onto his knees, creaking all the while, to sit eye-leveled with his injured friend. His hand gently took the ointment as he nodded his head to the toilet, implicating the boy should sit on the lid.

“Arm out, Scout.”

Within twenty minutes, the arm was spread with the ointment and a clean set of bandages were given. Carefully, the man stood back and walked to the shower, pulling back the curtain. 

“Doc, I’m not takin’ a bath here.”

“When was the last time you took a bath at all? In. I won’t have a quarantine in my house.”

“Come on, man!”

The younger man finally listened to reason and stumbled his way into the tub. Looking over his shoulder at the doctor, he waved his hand. “Scram, Doc. I’m doing what you said. I’ll look all clean for supper, don’t you worry.”

“Four in the morning is too early for dinner. I will however, begin breakfast.”

“Yeah. You do that, man.”

The doctor made a sharp turn to his medical cabinet before leaving; he so carefully plucked out certain containers and closed the small door with a click. “You won’t be needing these.“ The man mumbled before disappearing behind the door frame.

\-----------------------------------------

With a huff, Josef allowed himself a moment to think. With a narrow glance at the Vicodin in his hands, the doctor agreed that it would be best to breathe evenly again. The kid in his shower was a regular customer, but so was the man who overdosed on his couch earlier that morning. It was too dangerous to leave anything around these days.

Scout was trustworthy, but that voice inside his head, the one he was trying to quiet, was just as bad as the devil. Those voices were louder than police sirens and just as terrifying. 

Placing the candystore of pills into a hidden place, the man sat up and mussed up his hair to a state of no redemption. Laughing at his reflection in the glass of his china cabinet, the doctor continued to the kitchen where he set up the coffeemaker. There were no eggs in the house, so the two would have to do with oatmeal...Or maybe they could go out for brunch. Sleep hadn’t come so well after the death the previous morning, it never sat right with him.

With a flick of his finger, Josef shut off the machine and walked to the guestroom. The bed was already made, so Scout could just go straight to bed, but it wouldn’t be that simple for the doctor. His hands itched uncomfortably at his sides when that familiar urge crept its way up his spine and into his temple. If he just took a pill…slumber, sleep, rest, respite, ruhen, schlafen. 

When the sound of water suddenly disappeared, the medic stood straight up from his sleepless slouch.Two full steps back and he was in the hallway, glasses on his forehead. With great urgency, he put them rightfully into place on his face and tried to look presentable, shaking the torpor from his eyes. With a boy who chose to have no parents, it was imperative he kept the appearance of an authority figure, not an apathetic shell of an insomnolent man. 

So when the boy came out in a cloud of steam and no shirt on, it was Josef’s duty to clothe him. The exasperation returned when the boy refused to put on the clothes the German gave him. A slap to the back of his thankless head was in order.

“What kind ‘a medicine is that!?”

“Clothes won’t kill you, dumkoft. I repeat myself, put them on.” 

Forty minutes after the sweatshirt fiasco, Josef passed the room to see the boy sound asleep. The medic himself was still in a pool of dread and therefore could not meet his pillow. 

So thats how he came to be browsing the internet at seven in the morning, scrolling aimlessly. The screen that once illuminated his face got lost with the morning sun, and the buzzing and whirring of his laptop faded into the background like white noise.

Around eight, Archimedes woke up to perch on the man’s shoulder, beak tugging his hair. A quiet reminder to feed him. 

“Ja, ja. Archimedes will eat all ze breakfast. Geduld. Let me just post this in the forum… and done!”

Sliding from his chair, the German nearly fell from the stiffness in his legs. Regaining composure, he walked to the kitchen where a cereal container of bird food waited on the top of the refrigerator. The bird flapped around the doctor and started to coo in excitement.

“Shush! We do this every morning! Wake all neighbors! You are one beknackt bird. Ah, nein. I did not mean it. Do not look at me like that-”

The doorbell rung and the doctor was forced to cut his morning routine short. With quiet feet, the tall man walked to check on his guest whom was still sleeping. That meant he had no more rooms for the wandering addicts that somehow washed up at his door. 

Trying to slick his hair to perfection, the man would have to deal with more or less, bedhead. With a quick tweak of his vest and straightening of his torso, the doctor opened the door. Archimedes, happily perched and head cocked, awaited to see who this new guest was.

Josef did not expect a Russian bear to be at the doorstep of his residence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be attempting to update every Sunday. This thing will go on for quite a bit. If you have a request or still feel in the dark, don't be afraid to comment. I cherish every page view, I'm sure I'll go ballistic over a comment.


	3. Extra Change and Some Two-Cents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane is a fantastic lawyer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my beta as usual!
> 
> She now has an account on here and I can name her properly!  
> She's Thatsamoray and she's fabulous! Here's her tumblr too. It makes me laugh so here; http://lexie-in-pyroland.tumblr.com/
> 
> I will also be creating a tumblr soon for the concept art and some raw chapters of the fanfic for those who want it. Thank you so much for reading!

“How do you do it, Doe? How do you keep winning like this?”

“A jury always loves conspiracy theories. The more insane, the better! Less talk, more beer.”

The pub was dark, especially for three in the afternoon. Jane sat at the bar, a reporter talking his ear off next to him. It was not often that reporters wanted the scoop on a lawyer like him; rumor has it that the mob has a tight leash. That particular Rumor is true. Saxton would sooner castrate him over an poor newspaper report than slap a hand on Jane’s back over a victorious trial. Not like Jane had any qualms. Man-to-man, Saxton would beat him to a pulp. Jane did not want to be pulp. He preferred his Orange Juice pulp-less. “Listen up, kid. Thanks for the beer, now buzz off. A man deserves a victory drink.”

Instead of leaving, the kid kept drilling the man with menial, rehearsed questions. Endless word-vomit poured from his mouth, slapping Jane in the face. Not used to being out talked, Jane was prepared to do anything to shut the boy up. So he started growling, and growling is not was sane people usually do.

The reporter’s mouth hung open for a moment, finally closing, his lips pursed and his eyebrows knit together in confusion. The bartender even turned only to see who it was, but quickly returned to drying glasses. It was just Jane Doe. 

Before anything else could go down, a man interceded. “Mate, ya realize beating the press is worse than telling ‘em to piss off, right?”

The reporter saw an opportunity and took it, running with his papers clutched messily in his quivering arms. Jane and Rick watched as he bumped into a table and dropped his camera, which fell apart, lens shattering. He sunk to the floor in a heap of tears until someone finally pushed him out the doors with their foot, like a child. 

Rick took the previously occupied stool and ordered a beer on tap, his palm resting on his forehead, keeping him from slouching forward as he spoke to the lawyer. “You won, not so surprising anymore. I guess a good bribe can fetch freedom.” 

“Who told you I bribe my jury, Aussie? Never have, never will.”

“Sure. The truth has always been hard to get out of you law types, your justice is nothing short of laughable . So then, why don’t we discuss my orders if we’re done pussyfooting.”

“I don’t think so. Where’s Macarena. This one is more on her speed, son. Not yours.”

“Come now! We can do nearly everything the same.” The sunglasses on Rick’s face reflected Jane’s scowl and, in seeing this, Jane tried to lighten the frown on his face. He found the scowl staring back at him within seconds. 

“You make it messy.”

“Now that’s porky, mate. Ya know how I operate.”

“I know how you handle a knife. Use that gun cause you’re damn good with it, but a stakeout will take days and I don’t want to hang around with someone that smells like piss. Son, you can barely move after staying awake for so long. Let her take the job.”

With a solemn nod, Rick slumped fully forward onto the bar, hand running over and over through his hair as he thought out the possibilities, the advantages he had over his partner. Still, she would get it done faster, and if he was the one delivering the message, that meant he got part of the overall cut. In the end, it wasn’t such a bad deal. 

The lawyer watched as his friend drained the rest of his pint before he decided it was time to pay.

“You planning on leaving a tip or will that be on me?”

“I think ya got it, mate.”

“Thought so.”

Placing a twenty down, the man pulled from the counter with a brief squeaking sound. That turned heads, but only for a moment. In the crisis of Beer Vs. Surroundings, beer tended to win. Jane kept walking until he was out into the city street; it was still midday and the sun was so bright that Jane was glad he left his sunglasses on indoors. Hell, the man never took them off, even in the courtroom they were over his eyes. His opponents said he didn’t want the jury to notice the lies hidden under the lenses. Truth be told, Jane just liked how they looked on him, once or twice they even got him laid. Maybe more than that.

With the case over, he was to report back to the head honcho. Saxton would be glad to hear things went so well, not that Jane would be rewarded. It was a shame he’d have to hear all this through Helen. That woman was colder than the iceberg that sunk the Titanic. Maybe Pauling would throw him a bone, but the woman was always far too busy to dabble in the idea of positive reinforcement. Sure she was organized, but in the war of the streets a man needs a little more than hookers and drugs to keep him moving.

As he continued on his way, his thick boots scuffing on the pavement, Jane realized how safe his life was. How far away from the war he was. While scraps like Mundy and Baby Face Billy took up arms on the frontlines, he cleaned up their messes. What a life to be living. Sure, he had his sensible military haircut and his boots so shined up that any sargent would salute, but he was no soldier. Hiding behind a desk was nothing when there was no gun in the drawer. Jane didn’t own a gun, getting a license for one would seem too suspicious and Helen forbid it. Like he should listen to what that old bag said. 

Stopping outside the bus station, the lawyer carefully surveyed his surroundings. He was always aware of when he was being followed. This fella’ just was no good at stalking.

“Son, if you want an autograph, just ask.” 

Strangely, when Jane turned to meet the man in the eyes, he found him gone. Blinking, the lawyer gawked at the spot he swore the stalker was occupying just a moment back. Maybe it was that reporter fellow who lost the courage to punch him in the jaw, proper redemption for making the boy into a fool. Hell, Jane would even reconsider that interview if the kid had the balls to sock him in the face. Unfortunately there seemed to be no one in his shadow, so Jane boarded the bus with unease. 

The bus route always was a little hectic, thanks to the crime rate of Teufort, but the uptown ride was mildly peacefully. The upper class folks didn’t tend to take the bus, but not everyone saw a point in wasting money on a car. Besides, the environment could use a break. The metal behemoth started its engine and allowed its passengers to daydream for the time being. That is, until the bus reached their stop, then they’d leave, usually without giving a tip. If you’re taking the bus, you can’t really afford to leave some extra change. 

Jane chose the window-seat, his arms crossed over his chest as the air conditioner blasted on his face. Artificial air never felt so good. It was hard to say when exactly his eyes closed, but Jane woke up with a snort when someone sat down besides him.

“Preston, you piece of shit. You don’t sneak up on a man like that.”

“Sleeping on the bus? I expected more from a man of war.”

“War isn’t what I’d call the legal system.”

“I agree. I call it murder.” 

The bus ran over a particular bump and Jane found his elbow in the jaw of the cop. He felt himself get pushed back against the window by the slimmer man in retaliation. “Easy there, Frenchie. Ain’t going to kill you with a little elbow grease. Off, maggot.”

With a glare, the man backed away from the other and composed himself at the edge of the bus seat. He adjusted his tie and cleared his throat before bowing his head in apology. Not like he’d ever say it out loud. 

“Jane, I require your assistance.”

“Oh no, not again. Saxton may be blind and deaf to you, but Helen ain’t stupid. She’ll wring my neck in eight directions before I can spell U.S.A.” 

“This won’t require information, it will require infiltration.”

“You lost me.”

“Mon Dieu! How did you get your law degree if you cannot follow simple speech.” The cop threw his hands up before looking the lawyer straight in his eyes, fuming at his daftness. “You are to let me become one of you.”

“I don’t remember you graduating from law school.”

“Non! I will be in the gang. Not as your rank, lower would be better. Let me crawl with the insects.”

“Oh, yeah. I can put in a word, but I don’t think you’ll last.”

“Trust me, I will last.”

“Right. That all?”

“Oui, that is all. Call me once you get me in.”

“Roger that.”

The bus came to a full stop outside a shopping district where the innocent rich folk scampered about with their wallets full and pockets jingling with spare change. Easy pickings for a mugging, but daylight was no time to be hunting prey. No, the nights are when the wolves come out.

Jane was so busy looking at the hustle and bustle that he didn’t notice Preston leave. Instead, he turned to an empty seat. Gone, no trace left. Did they even have a conversation or was that just a dream? The lawyer felt his heart start to pump faster with this new plan of Preston’s. They’d been conspiring for months now. Preston swept the streets of crime while Jane popped them right back out. It was a sick game of cat and mouse, but it sure was addicting. 

The rest of the ride was slow, nothing of importance happening. People got on, people got off. A day was nearly over by the time Jane stepped foot in front of Mann Co. He knew the procedure by heart. First you walk in, you take the door to the left, then you walk through the large meeting room to the staircase. You go up the stairs and finally, there will be a code box. The code was 4-8-2-5 and Fwoosh! the door opens to where Helen is scowling. Always with that stoney mug and those frustrated eyes, yet her hair remained flawless each day. 

With a salute and a forward march, Jane approached the desk where he took his seat in the chair that was forever opposite of the woman.

“Did just as you said. Off innocent with lack of evidence. That good enough for you, sweetie?”

“You did well. Now, let’s start the next mission.”

“Next- Now wait a minute,” Jane rose from his seat, hands moving to reach for the desk, but on second thought, decided against it. Helen would whack his fingers. “I have completed three court cases in two days. That deserves a break.”

“A break? Mr. Doe, you cannot afford a break. Not with your debts.” The woman’s eyebrows didn't move a fraction of an inch as she spoke. 

“Listen, that’s fine. No break, but I got someone you need to meet. How about you give me a hundred dollar bill, cause this guy is going to change the direction of this place.”

“How about I continue to sign your checks and you just tell me what you’re rambling on about.”

“You haven’t met a man as good with knives until you’ve met this guy.” 

“I don’t need another knife thrower. Tell him he can work with the drug unit, maybe the pushers. I don’t need another brat to babysit, so give him to Pauling.”

“You got it! I am leaving this office now.”

Jane turned to make his escape, his body unusually stiff, despite everything going unbelievably smooth. 

“And Doe, before you go-”

The whimsical note of Helen’s voice surely spelled death.

“Yes, Cupcake?”

“Try not to do anything insane, or stupid. I’d hate to put you down.”

“Oh Ma’am. I can’t be brought down. I can only shoot up from here.”

And Jane skipped out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you caught the video game reference in this and guess to what game it is for (Not TF2) I will personally write you a fanfic of any kind, any rating. Just comment below with the name of the video game and what fanfic you want and with who.
> 
> I wish you luck. It's a tricky one. (Not really. I'm so lame.)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it's hard to get over the past. It still haunts Tavish. 
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Dusk crashed into the city in an explosion of purples and deep blues. The gray hush of mist rose from the asphalt like skeletons climbing out of their graves. The clouds of humidity thick in the alleyways and thin wisps in places people walked often. The skyscrapers fell black with only the white windows giving mercy to the infinite darkness surrounding them. The city did not quiet down in the tranquility of evening; instead it became a symphony of sound. The stomping of shoes and screeching of brakes were only hums compared to the noise level of Teufort. 

Climbing out of his car, Tavish clumsily pawed for his keys which were turned snuggly in the ignition. His fingers missed twice to grab hold; but finally tugged it out with a force meant for ripping steel. The keys went flying out of the car and into a puddle of oil and water. He only knew it was a puddle because he heard the wet plop of metal hitting liquid. With a string of curses, the Scotsman bent down in the street to search for his little metal keychain, hoping the streetlights would at least make the bloody keychain reflect light and shine as so he could see where the little trinket was. Of course all the puddles were as dead as a country night. 

He heard laughter in his head as he blindly groped under the wheels of his car, which fueled his deep desire to be wasted right in that moment. She just kept laughing at him. There was a cool chill sinking into the cotton of his tanktop, but still sweat was beading at his forehead. He would lick his upper-lip but his beard was starting to get overwhelmingly thick. Spit stuck in his upper lip would only make the hair stiff and itchy.

Anger clutched at his stomach as he realized how stupid he must look. So the man decided to just find the keys when the sun would be out. Besides, everyone knew not to mess with his car. Tavish with his cablepool was just as bad as a carbine pointed at the crotch. 

When the wind hit the crack of his arse, Tavish realized his boxers were at pants level. Which meant that they were just barely hanging on to the cleft of his rump. With a throaty growl; he tugged his boxers to cover his backside up properly and walked his way to the entrance of his run-down apartment building.

With a quick buzz in; he was welcomed with glass breaking under his feet. No drunk man was ever able to clean his mess, and if there was, Tavish hadn’t met him yet. 

The lightbulb in the hallway was blinking and swinging back and forth, there were sounds of running upstairs too. There was a limit to the patience the man had with his neighbors and this just wasn’t the night to be trying it.

Instead of walking straight to his door, the one-eyed Scotsman made a turn to the staircase where it was a bright yellow fluorescent thanks to cheap lighting. Fingers gripping the poorly made railing, he pulled himself up the narrow stairs to the 2nd floor of shitsville. The carpet under his feet was stained with all colors of the rainbow and was crusted over from lack of care. A boy was knocked-out against a wall, a needle plunged in his arm and eyes open staring at the ceiling. The corneas were tracking something moving so not a near enough dosage for an overdose. Good. Tavish didn’t want to drag another kid around all night. Baby Face Billy was bad enough. 

Knocking on the loudest door, the gangster shouted; “Oi! Keep it down you bloody fucks. Not everyone has time to dance in the sheets like the two o’ yer!” 

Silence came after that. Not too many Scottish black men went around Teufort knocking on doors. His reputation was well known. Just as he was turning; the door opened and a woman was slinking her way past him. She wore a night dress that covered just under the small of her back. She walked with pride; but everyone knew what kind of work she did. The walk of shame, eh? Every person had a right to make a living at the end of the night. 

She looked bruised and roughed up; but not by the man in the apartment. Those bruises on her naked arms were a few days old. The workers of the redlight district were never treated with the highest of care. Like a bucket of incest; everyone treated each other like dirt and chose to stick their warmest parts wherever they desired or in any wet hole they could find.

Tavish wasn’t clean of that either.

The door to his bedroom was always slamming shut the next morning. The mattress always pressed down on one side from the night’s sleeping partner. He had half the mind to ask the lady what she was doing that night, but there was something that kept him quiet.

She had burn scars up her right arm under the greens of old bruises. They stuck out in that oddly dark red looking like vines twisting and choking the flesh of her bicep to her shoulder. 

Just like Macarena has all up and down her body. Not even her face was spared from the lick of flames. 

The hooker wiggled her hips down the stairs and the Scotsman followed; only because his apartment was down there.

Her hips weren’t as curved as Macarena’s were. 

He watched her exit the front door and quickly turned away to make his final destination to his bed.

His empty bed.

Four years ago he shared a different bed in a different place with the same woman every night. The only problem was that neither of them liked to share. Or maybe they liked to share too much. One day he was with her, tracing the scars up her back and kissing her neck. The next he’d be in some unknown bed whispering drunk nothin’s to an absolute stranger.  
But just like the drugs he couldn’t shake, she was addictive and just as dangerous. A few times she’d light the apartment on fire just to see if it would burn. They’d scream; she’d say he was too controlling and before he knew it he was drunk and in someone else’s warm bed. She was everything fire was before and after. Sometimes dry like tinder. At other times smoldering like ash.

His mind was hazed with the withdrawal of her. He didn’t notice putting the bottle to his lip, but soon booze was warming his throat and sinking into his belly just like that pit of guilt and remorse. 

The apartment wasn’t as crappy as the rest of the building. To be honest, it was averagely decent. The floor was a little scuffed up and the furniture could do with an update, but overall; not bad. Tavish reintroduced himself to the fridge where he pulled out a bottle of whatever was the cheapest the mart around the corner had to offer. The drink was emptied promptly four seconds after it hit Tavish’s lips. 

All he wanted was another drink, but instead he was distracted by the blinking light on his answering machine. 

Slamming the fridge door shut, he walked over to the counter on which the phone awaited him. He ran his thick fingers over his mustache, wiping the remnants of booze off. His hand couldn’t stop shaking and he missed the play button at least twice before he pushed down with his whole body, the button now having droplets of market drink dripping over the buttons.

The voice on machine was Billy’s, rambling in this city’s accent.

“Hey, man. This deal tonight...I got a bad-”

The kid was cut-off once Tavish realized that the message was old. He ran out of the house to knock some sense into the lad earlier that day, which he regretted. Should have trusted the kid’s gut. 

The next message was completely new, thankfully. He was getting sick of hearing the kid whine. He should be grateful he got the bloody promotion to a peddler. 

“Tavish. I need a favor. Call me back, you know the number.”

So Jane Doe finally needed a favor. Good. It was about time he got to pay him back. All those trials he had to sit through all so the judge could once again wave him off due to lack of evidence. Doe never lost a case; but Tavish was pretty sure the man was starting to lose his damn mind. When he wasn’t preparing for a case; he was watching some documentary on some war. Doesn’t matter what war as long as it was American.

Jane once told Tavish he loved America because it seems like they should never win whenever they set the call for war. Though, they always did and do. Tavish never really responded and ignored the man as he drained the bottom of his mug. He chose not to mention Vietnam. The only thing America was good for was the crime system. He’s making more here in the States than he ever could peddling drugs in the UK.

Picking up the phone, his eyes scanned the numbers, them blurrily shifting spots. He belched before setting the phone back on the hook. Too drunk to do anything good anyway.

Stumbling into the bedroom, he took the scrumpy he kept next to his bed and took a good seven-second chug before slamming the bottle down. He made that gasp for air that people do after they chug and closed his eyes; too lazy to bother wiping off his mouth this time.

Sleep never hit him, but the next time Tavish opened his eyes; it was day and some bloody bird was chirping in his ear. Getting up with a groan and the edges of a hangover rattling his brain, he made his way down the hall to where the bathroom was. Sometime in the night he was smart enough to change into clean sweatpants. 

After some much needed washing and relieving; the man pulled on a T-shirt and settled on the couch; ready for a day of lounging.

Already that plan fell to smoke when there was loud knocking on his door. A heavy-handed knock. God Damnit, Doe.

He rose to his feet with a little of an uneasy sway and opened the door in an airy whoosh, letting it slam loudly on the wall. 

“What the hell do, ye want?”

“You know Tavish, this place wouldn’t be so bad if you kept it organized. I tell you; that’s one thing I learned in war. Organization is key!” 

“Ye never been in no war!”

“Movies, Tavish.”

He welcomed himself in and walked into the kitchen. There; he began to prepare breakfast for the two of them. The same thing as always; canned hash browns and some scrambled eggs. 

The lad took a seat, watching the lawyer cook. Of course Doe wore his stupid sunglasses inside. With a sigh, Tavish wiped his face with his palm, feeling his stubble becoming a bit too sharp and yanking back because of the beard burn. Grumbling, he turned in his seat to look out the window, noticing that clouds were starting to form. 

“What do ye want?” He tried again, voice tired from the morning and hard-liquor night. 

“I have some spook joining your little group. Be sure to teach him the ropes around here.”

“Nah-uh! I’ve got that little shit on me tail. I don’t need ‘nother spring chicken! I ain’t doing ya a favor like that.”

Jane turned, catching the man’s gaze and narrowing his eyes a bit. He closed the fridge with a bang and simply flipped the gas on for the stove. “Tavish,” he began whilst cracking an egg on the side of the counter. The pan sizzled with the new addition and Jane turned the pan accordingly to make himself look like he knew how to cook like some fancy chef. “I’m sure you know how deep down in shit you are. Helen gives orders, I then disperse them, and then the decent members of our little association take the hard jobs. Then there are peddlers like you. The people who take the skidmarks of our organization and clean them up. So what I’m saying is; do your shit job and get my boot out of your ass. This guy is moving up in a few weeks anyway.”

“Then why do ye-” he stood from his seat, fists curled against the loose sweatpants. He knew better than to pick a fight with the lawyer. Knew better than to be poached on the judge’s stand by afternoon tea. He calmly walked to the other, hand outstretched in confusion now. “Why don’t ye promote me, Doe? I know I can-”

“We’ll see how you do with this frog, private.” He mumbled before turning with a plate of eggs with that synthetic potato mush fuming beside it. “Now set the table. Time for chow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for being so late with this. 
> 
> I really did try to work on this here and there but it was just getting difficult to work with words and portraying characters I wanted to. 
> 
> Thanks for all the support! It means so much!
> 
> And thanks to my Beta who has an account here now and I don't know how to link her.. but here: http://lexie-in-pyroland.tumblr.com
> 
> Oh and I finally made a tumblr too! I'm also accepting requests for fics because hopefully that will help with my writing funk. http://nosurfacesalt.tumblr.com


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